Fighting the Darkness
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. Zevran, the silver-tongued Antivan assassin, reflects on his encounter with Taliesin in Denerim and memories of the past.


**Disclaimer: The lyrics belong to Primal Fear and the characters belong to Bioware. I hope you enjoy reading this little vignette!**

* * *

_I'm fighting the darkness within me, can you hear my call?  
Feels like I'm frozen under my skin, I'm forever lost  
Here in the shadows, in the twilight, life is eternal and my past is forsaken  
I'm fighting the darkness_

She found him standing guard at his familiar spot beside the campfire, occasionally wandering off to make his circuit about the camp perimeter, waiting impatiently for daybreak or at least for one of their other companions to relieve him of his post. It was difficult to sneak up on him given how sharply his senses were attuned to the sounds and sights of his environment. His discerning dark eyes—ringed with iridescent flecks of gold and amber—sought out her heated form even before she had announced her presence.

"A good evening to you, too, my fair Warden."

She cursed her own lack of discretion, abandoning all pretense of stealth, and said, "Yeah, I guess I could do with a pair of softer boots, huh? Alistair's _always_ complaining about how loud my step is… He says I stomp around like a charging bronto. Always has a way with words, that Alistair."

Zevran lifted his flaxen head to look at her in the darkness, his eyes doubly mesmerizing as they reflected the burning watch fires. The faraway look on his visage indicated to her that his thoughts had been preoccupied—but with what, she wasn't sure.

"I suspect it is not Alistair you came to speak to me about. That naughty little smile of yours is a dead giveaway. You know you have the most delectable little way of grinning when you're embarrassed, my dear?"

There it was again—that little grin playing on her pouty lips, expanding to a full-blown smile that exposed those wonderfully feminine dimples. From studying her over the past several weeks, Zevran had learned that the dimple smile was one reserved only for her closest friends, and not one she easily gave out to just anybody. He had to work to earn it, and tonight it was well-won. Reveling in his little victory, he added, "Now then, what was it you wished to speak to me about?"

"Just to talk."

"Talk?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Zevran laughed, clearly amused by her lack of subtlety.

"Talking is… _not_ what I had in mind, my Warden. And I suspect it is not what you had in mind either, yes?"

"Oh, I… uh…"

"Precisely."

Instead of merely storming off, ashamed, to her tent, as she was wont to do when Zevran teased her mercilessly with innuendoes in front of the others, she stood her ground. With both hands on her slim hips, she adopted a more imposing stance, raising herself up to the full extent of her relatively diminutive height. She was just barely taller than Zevran, and that was with boots on; when she had her shoes off, he quickly gained a scant few inches on her. Thankfully, tonight she had the advantage.

"No, what I meant was that you seem rather… _different_. Like something's changed. Is it Taliesin? His death wounded you deeply, didn't it?"

In an instant, the fire had returned to Zevran's eyes, though this time there was nothing playful about it. Staggering backwards, Aeryn Cousland felt as a wave of tension descended upon them, throwing her slightly off guard. She had to throw out both hands to keep her balance.

"_Do not _speak his name ever again." It was as much an order as it was a plea for her to understand his currently conflicted frame of mind. "You have no right to speak it."

Zevran paused in silence while his eyes crawled over her flesh and into the deepest, darkest depths of her soul, assessing her reaction. He had somehow miraculously regained his few inches of height over the petite female, and his normally musical voice was now flat and cold. There was no mistaking the command apparent in his tone, and despite herself, Aeryn cast her eyes down to the ground to indicate submission.

"I'm sorry, Zev."

Surprised at the informal manner of address, Zevran stiffened slightly.

"I think we are finished here, no? Don't you have better things to do than stand around talking to me?! We have a horde of Darkspawn to conquer… perhaps you should give that more consideration!"

Without even waiting for a response, Zevran moved to continue his circuit about the camp, leaving Aeryn perplexed and slightly offended. The look on her face spoke volumes; Wynne, who stood nearby with both arms crossed, seemed to be studying her rather earnestly, her kindly eyes conveying her deepest sympathies. Even the armor-clad Alistair, who stood not far off to her left, just looked embarrassed and pretended he hadn't noticed.

Not one of her companions said a word. _Until…_

"Hey Warden, if he's not _man_ enough for you, you can come to my tent later and I'll show you what you been missin'," Oghren's lecherous voice barked, causing even the stoic Sten to glare in his direction.

She bit her lip, looking slightly disgusted as the rowdy dwarf lifted his flagon of ale in her direction. He was hilariously attired in nothing but a pair of woolen breeches, his armor having been shed long ago in a losing hand of cards (despite Leliana's protests he keep his clothes _on_, thank you very much).

"Uh, I think I'll pass…"

"Case you change your mind, my offer still stands. You know where to find me."

"Tempting, but no."

"Suit yourself. Looks like I'll be polishin' the ol' weapon by myself tonight_, heh-heh-heh_…"

She closed her eyes to rid herself of that unnecessary mental image and ducked below the canvas flap of her tent.

* * *

_All that's left is the poison in my veins  
Deep inside I'm going through a change  
And I'm falling deeper  
Help me, please_

He had been too hard on her, hadn't he? That thought circulated in his head for several minutes as he walked to one edge of the camp and back again, braving the steely cold stares of his companions. They all seemed to be communicating to him wordlessly their universal dislike of his treatment of Aeryn, and at this point, he honestly couldn't say he much blamed them.

Every ridged muscle of his tanned, lithe legs strained as he walked back and forth, even though the exercise wasn't particularly exhausting. Rather, he was too consumed with thoughts of Taliesin, his former friend, mentor, and confidante—the man who had promised him leniency had he in fact returned to the Antivan Crows with a sufficient cover story in tow.

Why had he not taken him up on his offer when he had the chance?

At one time, he and Taliesin had been near inseparable—which in itself drew whispers from the rest of the incredulous guild members, who often liked to spin fictitious tales of their sordid "exploits" after hours. Zevran hadn't at all minded the rumors; to be able to express one's sexuality so openly was, to him, a gift from the Maker. But Taliesin had felt differently. The strain of the continued whispers forced him to put distance between the two of them, effectively cooling their friendship until it was nothing more than a farce. As the threads continued to unravel, their relationship had all but fizzled completely.

_Such a shame. There was promise there, yes._

Taliesin was one of the Crows who had helped recruit him as a child, raising him up from the squalor in which he had lived. And though the rowdy living quarters that housed the rest of the assassins was little better than a whorehouse, Zevran still considered himself fortunate to have been given a chance to rise above his own limitations.

He remembered his own incredulousness at having watched the bright-eyed young boy—only a few years older than himself at the time—walk obediently at the side of Master Agustín. He was completely disciplined, obedient, in masterful control of his emotions. Zevran wanted to learn how to be just like him. Perhaps it was admiration that first drew him to Taliesin?

In time, Zevran had been granted his wish. With the help of his fellow Crows—namely the young bright-eyed boy who had grown to exceptional manhood in no time at all—he had been trained to make his heart cold to the kill. So what were the stirrings of emotion he felt whenever he was around Aeryn? Attraction? Of course. Love? Certainly not. Taliesin had often said such things were not possible, hadn't he? Yet here he found himself questioning Taliesin's teaching—and all because of the Grey Warden, because of Aeryn and her total and complete inability to be anything other than appealing, a tasty dish for him to marvel at but refrain from devouring.

Oh, but devour her he wanted to. Throwing caution to the wind would have been better than continuing on with this endless charade of indifference. But always, Taliesin's immortal words rang clear in his head: "Don't delude yourself into believing what you feel is love. Emotions are inconvenient and will get you killed."

That was why he had never—and now _could_ never—express to Taliesin all the things he had felt when he first saw him, standing tall beside Master Agustín, in that pitiful little hovel-cum-brothel he called home. Perhaps that was why they had never forged a real and lasting connection, and why he still could not with Aeryn. His inability to express to her what he was feeling was further driving a wedge between them, and for the first time in a great many years, Zevran felt pained because of it.

He recalled Taliesin's face as he cornered him, Aeryn, Alistair, and Morrigan that day in the alley. It was a clear, beautiful day, but all of that joy seemed to fade as soon as he recognized the familiar features of his old friend.

"Well, if it isn't the great Zevran Arainai." His voice dripped sarcasm and annoyance. It was clear he had spent quite a great deal of time tracking him down, and now that he had finally located his quarry, he was not going to let them evade his clutches. "When I'd heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply couldn't believe my ears… I had to see it for myself."

The words shook the elf to the core. They had been friends once—and _almost_ more—so surely he could understand his desire to act out of self-preservation? The look of scorn on the darkly handsome man's face seemed to say otherwise, however. He continued pacing at the top of a long stairway on one of the city's abandoned ramparts. Although Taliesin was not a large man by any stretch of the imagination, he definitely used his height to his advantage… in much the same way as Aeryn.

"Well, here I am… in the flesh."

"I know why you did this, Zevran."

_He did?_ That was news to the handsome elf, whose face contorted in a mixture of confusion and relief.

"Come back and we'll make up a story."

Oh, how he wanted to believe that was true. Knowing Taliesin, however, and how much he had changed in the last several years, he very much doubted that things would go that way when it came down to it. With his luck, the dark-haired man would turn on him as soon as he set foot outside the heavily fortified walls of Denerim and skin him for deserting.

"I'm not coming back, Taliesin," he said with resolve, firmly set in his decision. "I'm sorry, my friend."

Aeryn's head had snapped mechanically toward him as though she could not believe her ears. He hadn't needed to look at her to tell as much; her movements were as much a part of him as she was now that all five of his senses were fully wrapped up in her essence and in detecting her movements at all times in order to protect her life. They shared a bond that was unbreakable, one that trumped any bond he had ever forged with Taliesin. He was determined to honor that bond, and in order to do that, his help was needed now.

"You should have run while you had the chance!" Talisein taunted, leaping into battle without preamble. The man hacked and slashed his way toward the graceful elf, his body spinning in an impressive maneuver that brought him halfway down the staircase in one fell swoop. As a troop of assassins converged upon their tiny party, intent on decimating their forces, Zevran went on the offensive, using his body to shield Aeryn from attack. Though she didn't particularly need protecting, judging from the host of corpses scattered about her feet, he felt the need to guard her more urgently than he felt the need to dispatch Taliesin.

Within a matter of minutes, they had made short work of the assassins, aggressively subduing the large force. When Zevran was certain the Grey Warden was safe from harm, he at last crept in for the kill, his movements stealthy, honed from years of practice.

In all his years working for the Crows, he had never imagined this moment.

Aeryn had nodded meaningfully to the elf when they'd cornered the helpless man on the ground, blood gaping from his side where she had sliced him open with her one dagger. As he lay there clutching his grievous wound, never once betraying his fear—even to the last—Zevran's hand trembled a little on his dual swords. Then, without so much as a nervous twitch, he steeled his resolve and swept Taliesin's head clean off his shoulders, watching it tumble away into a mucky puddle where it landed with a careless splash, disrupting a nearby flock of pigeons.

"It is done," he proclaimed, breathless, his face spattered in the blood of his fallen friend. "Taliesin is dead, and I am free."

Aeryn placed her hand on his shoulder to comfort him without words, though he had not suffered the touch without remonstrance. His shoulder blade curved in a sharp arc, forcing her hand to fall to her side as his eyes cautiously warned her to keep her distance. The time for talking would be later, when they were back at the camp that night…

And yet he had turned her away, warning her never to speak Taliesin's name again.

Was it too late to make amends, or had the damage already been done?

* * *

Aeryn lay awake, staring at the thick square beams that supported the ramshackle little tent in which she resided. Though the night was chill and growing colder still, she had a small patchwork blanket and her faithful Mabari, Cheldar, to keep her warm. The dog had crawled up beside her, placing his head on the pillow next to her as she stroked the soft spot behind her ears. The dog stretched his massive paws in response.

"Bedtime, boy. Maybe tomorrow morning things will be back to normal. I think we're all a little on edge lately."

Cheldar whined plaintively.

"I know… I don't understand him either. But we all have our own burdens to bear. I just thank the Maker I have you to help me deal with mine."

With that big, stupid grin of his, tongue lolling out of his mouth to spill fresh drool all over her pillow, the dog looked up at her with complete and utter adoration. One slurp to her cheek told her that he felt the same way.

"Good night."

Her head had scarcely hit the pillow before she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, rousing her from her sleep. She swung upward, squinting into the darkness, where she could just barely make out the slender, athletic form of the Antivan. His hand remained on her shoulder, where it applied just a little bit of pressure in an affectionate squeeze.

"Are you asleep, my Warden?"

"Not anymore," she groaned crankily. "What in the name of the Maker could be so important that you'd wake me up?"

The soft warmth and inviting wetness of his lips collided with hers, sending an excited shiver down her spine. She reflexively pushed herself up to a sitting position, letting her hands land on the sculpted contours of his cheekbones, running down toward his jaw. The kiss was so soft and tender that, had she not known it was Zevran, she would have guessed a certain templar had finally garnered enough courage to act on the latent feelings he so obviously harbored for her.

The kiss ended all too soon, and then she found herself sinking deeper into his intense gaze. His arms worked the muscles in her back, kneading the pressure points a little here and there.

"Wow… is that an apology?" she asked teasingly, playing with errant strands of his blonde hair that had come untucked from behind his ears.

"Of sorts."

"I think I could do with a little more 'apologizing' then…"

The corner of Zevran's mouth quirked in a little grin.

"Mmm, I like the sound of that, my little minx."

He smiled and held her close, allowing her the chance to melt into his kiss once again.


End file.
